Comments on the internet


Sometimes, after a long day of seeing the utterly moronic, cruel and pointless comments that people type on the Internet, I have this dream.

In this dream I see a white panel van driving around town. It’s an old Ford Econoline from the 80s with sticker letters on the side that say FLORIST. It takes the out-of-the-way streets and the byways, circles around the areas that will not make it onto a postcard or the front page of the newspaper. In other words, it moves unnoticed among the rest of us… people like you and me. It drives slowly, its engine muttering and exuding a smell of hot oil.

This is the Eugenics Van.

Inside the cabin, the radio crackles with a new message.

“123 Maple Street, Unit Four. Some guy keeps posting Nickelback lyrics and unwarranted criticism to YouTube.” The driver looks at the navigator and they exchange nods. The EV picks up speed and halfway crosses town to the address.

A knock at the door rings out in unit four. “Just leave it outside,” croaks the voice of a bloated moron.

“Flowers for you sir,” says the person at the door wearing a khaki uniform with FLORIST embroidered on the name tag. He makes his voice nasal to seem meek and submissive. “Need your signature sir.”

He hears grumbling and cursing within as clothing is pulled over resisting flesh. The door opens and a standard modern lumpenperson stands there. The florist hands him the flowers, which are made of soft plastic. “What the?” says the dufus, but that’s all he says, because the florist has whipped out a silenced Ruger .22 and shot him through the eye.

The bullets are hollowed and filled with a potent neurotoxin which causes the retard to contort and flail as his central nervous system is eaten from within. The florist picks up the flowers which have bounced when they were dropped and punted by the spasmic death of the imbecile. He waves to his partner in the van who arrives, also wearing a florist uniform and carrying a rug.

They roll up the dufus in the rug, then search the house for a suitcase. They pack it with the wallet, phone, personal effects and enough clothing to make it appear that dufus has gone on a short trip. Then they take the rug and suitcase down to the van and throw them in the rear.

Once a day, the EV drives to a funeral home on the outskirts of town. There it backs up slowly to the incinerator and deposits a few dozen bodies. The foreman shrugs and pulls the lever, dropping them into the flames. The ash is crushed and scattered on the roses at the far side of the cemetery next to a rest stop known to be frequented by truckers looking for glory holes.

The cops get called to the idiot’s house and declare him missing. His family wail and flutter their tiny forearms lost in oceans of fat but since they are dysfunctional, it is assumed that this idiot is just another person lost. The file goes onto a shelf and idiot goes into the statistics. The EV is long gone, moved on to a new city.

Society goes on its merry oblivious way. Outside of its notice, the EV drives slowly through the everyday streets of our cities, stopping wherever stupidity disrupts the pursuit of life. It filters humanity of the useless so people who have a purpose in existing can finally catch a break and not be forced to constantly ignore the imbecilic among them. Somehow its victims are forgotten, unnoticed or ignored and absolutely nothing of even remote significance is interrupted by their absence.

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34 thoughts on “Comments on the internet”

  1. Diagnosis: Sociopathy concomitant with pathological homosexual deviancy resultant from acute sodomization in early childhood.

    Prescription: Listen to Pantera 2x daily — preferably while in a hug-box — in order to sublimate negative emotions.

  2. Obabo says:

    Well, I’m tired of pretending
    But I’m terrified of it ending
    I know if not for you there’s nothing I could do to ever let it end
    And I know you feel the same way
    Cause you told me drunk on your birthday
    And as you pulled to me
    You whispered in my ear, “Don’t ever let it end”

  3. Dualist says:

    People who have a ‘purpose in existing’? You’re not the first person who’s inclined to view certain people are expendable – I agree it is tempting.

    But as was pointed out to Epicurus (who lived away from the city and on a diet solely of goat’s cheese) when he made the same assertion, he actually relies on a lot more people than he thinks. Even many of the ‘pointless’ ones.

    The banality, narcissism and increasing nastiness of people is utterly enraging, for sure. But it’s always best to remove the log one’s own eye before we point out the speck in another’s.

    I ask you – have YOU reached your total potential as a human being? Is the world a much better place for your actions in it? I don’t mean this necessarily rhetorically, I don’t know what you do in your ‘real’ life.

    But life is more than just feeling we have ‘meaning’. That’s a necessary starter for ten, but just a start. To believe it’s the only answer is an example of the narcissism of the hipster. What’s the meaning of life? I’d say it’s this: to do good. And not just some good, the MOST good we possibly can.

    Have you done that up to now? Would your idol Nietzsche count you among the Ubermensch? If society does finally collapse have you amassed the resources so that you and your family would be one of the survivors? For somebody of your intellect, are you in the best position you possibly could be and had as good an effect on the world as you possibly could have done?

    I certainly know I haven’t, up to now. But there’s always tomorrow my friend…

    1. Richard Head says:

      “Do good” sounds great until you try to get everyone to agree on what “good” means. Your only other argument then would be that things are self-evidently good or otherwise. That’s not a very convincing argument though.

      1. Dualist says:

        I agree, that’s the crux of the matter. That’s we’re a healthy culture comes in. In all the great cultures, most people agreed on what constituted the good. Ours doesn’t. Hence the problems…

  4. Manly Bear says:

    Please Brett you really need to stop being such a right wing lunatic. Walk towards the light

  5. Robert says:

    This is a good start for a screenplay, Brett. You should stick with it. If this were a film, I’d watch it.

    1. Count Ringworm says:

      Substitute FLORIST for an ice cream truck and it’s just the biography of Robert Pronge

  6. Howard says:

    Looks like someone is butthurt from a certain botanist comment. Time to grow some pansies.


    One of my proudest moments in this period was sleeping with a girl who had a boyfriend after I opened her in a cafeteria with a pretty sweet move: while sitting next to her, I noticed I had no spoon for my cereal, so I looked to my right, noticed her and said, “Hey, you should go get me a spoon.” Before that moment I’d never met her or even known who she was. And yes, she got me the spoon… and also swallowed a lot of my cum a few days later.

    In other words, being a dick was getting my dick sucked.

    I didn’t know anyone who played on my level. I thought I was a young King in training. Obviously then, the first week of school – Freshman Week – was a Valhalla of pussy. Non-stop partying and a new incoming freshman class primed to slob on my knob.

    After a few nights of debauchery, there was a slow night where most partygoers took a break to help their livers and dicks recover. Still going strong, I decided to go out and chill with my fraternity brothers in our party house. It was fun, but soon I felt tired and decided catch up on sleep. As I stood up to leave, three girls walked in. The two in front I knew – they weren’t very attractive but they were fun to party with. But a third girl was in tow – I hadn’t seen her before. And then she walked closer into the light, and I was stunned.

    She was gorgeous. Breasts perfectly proportioned to her body, and her ass… out of this world. For me… perfect.

    I turned to my fraternity brother and said to him, verbatim, “I’m going to fuck that girl.”

    About an hour and a half later, she was screaming my name as I ate her out. However, even after I made her cum, she just got dressed and left without reciprocating or fucking me.

    1. Stinky Dick says:

      That was gay as fuck. Wheres the sodomy?

    2. Richard Head says:

      So that’s why you turned gay?

    3. Dualist says:

      I don’t believe you

  8. Gay BEE says:

    BRett Steven wher’es the review for perdition temple their new album recently released ?

  9. Richard Head says:

    One huge flaw here that destroys my suspension of disbelief; why would anyone put a neurotoxin in a .22 round? A round that size, fired from a handgun at close range (through the eye no less) would ricochet around the inside of the skull, turning the brain into soup. The toxin on the shell would not help the killer, only add an unnecessary expense and make it easier for forensics experts to track the killer. You would only use a neurotoxin to kill someone by dosing them without them knowing; say, in a food, for example. And neurotoxins don’t need to be delivered directly to the brain; they act on the brain after reaching it through the bloodstream. As a fellow death metal fan, I’m disappointed that you don’t know this shit, Brett.

    1. LostInTheANUS says:

      Brett is just starting to lose his mind because Paul Ledney and Varg Vikernes haven’t filled his tight cornhole with their tasty semen in years.

    2. richard roma says:

      Well no, because if they cremate the body there’s no evidence of the neurotoxin. I think a poison dart gun would be a lot better and minimize carpet bloodstains, though.

      1. Richard Head says:

        Poison dart gun? Where are you going to get one of those? Better to try to find a tranquilizer rifle for large animals, because those actually exist and are available for purchase. Enough tranq in the dart will stop an adult human’s heart, but if not you can just dump him in the in incinerator that same day if you aren’t too busy.

        1. Flying Kites says:

          He dreamed this. Shot a guy in the face and into the brain. Obviously, neurotoxin comes to mind. Absolute ice cold vodka.

          So, stop perjorating around like chimps and giving Bret any ideas of Christ like eternity.

          1. Richard Head says:

            You sound higher than the kites you’re flying.

  10. richard roma says:

    Never made it as a wise man
    I couldn’t cut it as a poor man stealing
    Tired of living like a blind man
    I’m sick of sight without a sense of feeling

    And this is how you remind me
    This is how you remind me
    Of what I really am
    This is how you remind me
    Of what I really am

  11. Richard Head's tiny penis says:

    Check out this list of the best metal records and see if any of these are still worth keeping! I personally still enjoy that Deceased album but nowdays Ungod seems quite boring.

    1. Richard Head says:

      I still dig the Blaspherian and Cruciamentum releases. Don’t know any of the others though (except Heresiarch and haven’t listened to that one for a while).

      1. Ara says:

        Amazed by the love of Blotted Science and Conquering Dystopia.

        1. Richard Head says:

          I like that first Blotted album but I don’t know how they got a pass here while Animals as Leaders gets ripped to shreds.

          1. Animals as Leaders is fucking garbage: second-rate 1980s lite jazz with occasional slowed-down Meshuggah riffs.

            1. Ara says:

              I respect Jarzombek, Webster and Loomis as writers but that Marrow dude is no different than a djent guitarist to me.

            2. I blew my head off like Per Olin says:

              Animals as Leaders is just boring. Blotted Science is boring too.

          2. trystero says:

            Tosin Abasi wears womens pants, per own admission.

    2. Anthony says:

      I never really got into Blaspherian or Cruciamentum. That Esoteric albums still gets fairly regular rotation from me. It might be my favorite of their discography. All the GridLink stuff still holds up. I actually like them more than Discordance Axis, which is something of a minor league grindcore heresy. Rudra, Beherit, Deathstrike, and Sorcier des Glaces’ releases that year are also high quality.

      The only stuff from that list that doesn’t hold up for me would be the retro-death and the war metal: two genres which have always struck me as the domain of aesthetic fetishists and recent converts (amazing how those two overlap so very often).

      1. Richard Head says:

        Gridlink gives me a headache, just like all the new-school grindcore with high-pitched guitars and vocals.

        I don’t know if you meant to insinuate that Blaspherian and Cruciamentum were retro-death, but if so, you’re missing out by dismissing them categorically.

        1. For many years, I’ve wanted to assess bands by a “length of relevance” from about 1 year to infinity. For example, Blaspherian clearly will be enjoyable for a longer time than many releases, including many good releases… and some stuff that might not be all that amazing on paper will be enjoyed for many years. It’s a better assessment because it measures form, content and pleasure (the aesthetics joining the two and its degree of metaphorical realism) at once.

  12. trystero says:

    Note the author has spent most of his adult life trolling the internet.

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